Page 17 of Over & Out

I’m going to say yes. I’m actually going to sit here and say yes. Is this real life? Is this me? I clear my throat and stand up, feeling lightheaded. “Would you excuse me for just one minute?”

I need a breath. Just a quick bit of air.

I need Lana.

I slip outside, only to find Lana and Mac casually leaning against the wall next to Mac’s door, which we all know has notoriously bad soundproofing.

“Were you eavesdropping?” I accuse.

“Yes,” Lana whispers, not bothering to lie. “I mean, I came to check on you and tell you a movie star left you a bananas tip. But right now, I need to tell you he was very polite. He is capable of manners. So yes. You need to say yes.”

“Lana!” Mac admonishes loudly.

“Shh!” we both exclaim.

She heard the whole thing. They both did. Or at least enough.

“No!” Mac whispers, though I can tell it’s a struggle. “She needs to say no. The guy’s an ass!”

Lana waves Mac away, turning her back on him and facing me. “Chris, when I took a chance on my dream, it wasn’t easy, but everything fell into placesofast.”

Mac leans back against the wall behind her, groaning but knowing better than to interrupt either one of us when we’re on a mission.

“But this isn’t my dream!” I say, plucking at my shirt, because I’m sweating. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it? Boiling, floor-is-lava hot? I feel a little faint.”

Lana fans my face. “That’s exactly my point,” she says, nonsensically. “This is three months where you get to find out what your dream is and have the most amazing time doing it.” Of course my best friend has read my mind. “Comeon, Chris. Fancy cars? Spas? Fucking money?” I can tell Lana’s trying very hard not to shake me by the collar. It’s so funny, because I swear this used to be us, but in reverse. I was the happy-go-lucky one. She was the one with her feet in the mud.

“I don’t know…” Mac grumbles.

I open the folded-up paper for them.

“Holy shit!” Lana exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “Chris!”

Meanwhile, Mac’s jaw drops wide open. The only other time I’ve seen that happen was when he saw Shelby on his wedding day. “I…I mean, maybe Lana’s making some points,” Mac says weakly, still staring at the number.

I crumple up the paper and press my hands to my temples. “Okay. Both of you go away. I need to think.”

“No thinking! Only doing!” Lana whisper-yells as she shoves Mac out of the hallway.

After a moment, I go back into that room and pepper Tru with more questions. She answers all of them. And despite everything rational screaming at me that this isthe worst idea anyone has ever had, I find excitement coursing through my veins. Sure, I’d have the worst boss in history, which, after the best one, will be a challenge. But I’d get to yell at him. I’d get to tell him where to shove it. I’d get to go to fancy awards and eat lobster and have the kind of life I never everevergot to have, not even when I look back on my happiest days when it was just me and Dad. And it’s only three months. I could do that for three months, right? After that I could go and find my future. Or I could come back here, like it never happened.

Plus, there’s one thing that clinches it. It’s when I’m grilling Tru about Hopper and I ask the question that matters most. “Will he lie to me?”

Tru blinks at that.

I grip my skirt in my damp palms. “I can deal with a lot,” I tell her. More than most people; more than I’d ever admit. “But I can’t abide a liar.”

It’s my bottom line. The thing that matters more than anything to me in the world. And if he is, I’m out.

Tru looks at me closely, seeming to take in my set jaw, my rigid posture. Like she sees how important this is to me, even if only I know why. “Okay, listen,” she says. “I’m not Hopper. As much as I know him, I’m not inside his head. So I don’t want to make promises about things over which I have no control.”

My stomach sinks. I should have known better than to get excited. My whole life I’ve known better than to get excited about things that might change my life.

“But,” Tru continues, “if there’s one thing I know about Hopper, it’s that he doesn’t mince words, and hehas no problem telling you exactly what’s on his mind. In all the time I’ve been working for him—seven years next month—he’s never once bullshitted me.”

I can’t help smiling, both because she said what I was hoping she would and because I don’t miss how she clearly didn’t cover anything up in her own answer. She didn’t make me any bullshit promises.

“Three months.” I say finally.

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